


The Late Luncheon

by navree



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Romance, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, but literally NOTHING compares to these two, some of you have seen me post shippy stuff on here, they're everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-18 03:00:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14203596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/navree/pseuds/navree
Summary: Logically, of course, Lemony knows that there are thousands and upon thousands of reasons as to why Beatrice is now exactly on time, but his mind, morose and melodramatic as it is, goes straight for the worst.Lemony and Beatrice have an 'early dinner' planned. She's running a bit behind schedule.





	The Late Luncheon

**Author's Note:**

> requested on tumblr at http://navree.tumblr.com/post/172569582078/asoue-fic-prompt-some-lemonybeatrice-maybe-with  
> Anyone who tries to say that these two aren't the epitome of tragic romance is absolutely lying to themselves and we all know it, because honestly, just look at them. Look at their story. God I'm too emotional about all this.  
> as always, comments (either positive or constructive) are always welcome and much appreciated!

The clock ticks. Not like a time bomb, as that would be a cliché, but it ticks. Every second, without fail, brings that sound, that slight clicking sound that designates that yet another increment of time has passed. The café is quiet, as it is later than the hours of the lunch rush, yet too early to bring in the trickle of the dinner crowd. There is an old man sitting alone at a booth, reading _The Daily Punctilio_ , flipping through the pages with gnarled and arthritis ridden fingers **_(_** arthritis is, of course, the debilitating disease that one gets not, as previously suspected, by cracking one's knuckles too often, but by a variety of different factors ranging from sports injuries to gout **_)_**. There is a busboy, sweeping up dust and wiping down tables almost simultaneously. There are cooks in the kitchen, and the café owner, a man whose name Lemony does not remember at this moment, tapping an irregular beat with his fingers behind the counter. 

Lemony, too, is tapping his own beat, digits drumming restlessly against the counter at which he sits. He fidgets occasionally, head ducked, and every so often glances at the clock, which still ticks on and on with no signs of stopping. He moves because he is restless. He is restless because he is nervous. He is nervous because he and Beatrice had arranged an 'early dinner' of sorts, and she is late. Which in and of itself would not be cause for much concern in a normal life, as she is not late by many minutes. 

But Beatrice is never late. She is punctual, almost to a fault someone would say, though if you asked Lemony he would simply tell you that he fails to see how punctuality could be considered a fault. Which is why, when they generally set a time for any meeting of any sort, he can always expect Beatrice to be there exactly on the dot, or even before. She once told him that she loathed the idea of arriving late to anything. Lemony told her it was the sign of nobility. 

Beatrice being late now did not, of course, mean that she had stopped being noble. But it does mean that there's something going differently than usual, and that is cause for worry. Logically, of course, Lemony knows that there are thousands and upon thousands of reasons as to why Beatrice is now exactly on time, but his mind, morose and melodramatic as it is, goes straight for the worst. He thinks of the millions of things that could cause her to be late, and none of them are very good things. It makes his heart rate pick up slightly. The clock ticks. It is now three minutes past their agreed time to meet. Lemony taps his fingers against the counter. 

"Waiting for someone?" He flinches slightly at the intrusion into his solitude, and glances to the side, over hunched shoulders, to where this sudden conversationalist leans against the counter. It's the busboy, brushing his hands against his stained apron. Larry, Lemony places him. Larry Your-Waiter, if his memory serves him correctly, it generally does. 

"Something like that," Lemony mumbles, stilling his fingers. "I've got...a date of sorts." It sounds hokey when he says it, because he never thinks of him and Beatrice in such mundane terms. In his mind, words like _fate_ and _destiny_ and _soulmates_ and _forever_ come into play quite often whenever he ponders what he and Beatrice have. Oftentimes, it remains undefinable. 

"You're being stood up?" Larry Your-Waiter clucks sympathetically. "Oh, I've been there." His words infer a lifetime of memories that he likely didn't think about very often. Lemony feels his lips twitch up in a smile. 

"I'm not being stood up," he clarifies. "She's...not that type of girl. She's late, and I'm nervous." Larry Your-Waiter clucks sympathetically again, but this time it is of a more intimate nature. After all, they share experiences. He should know why Beatrice's tardiness might make Lemony's mind run about in panicky circles. To calm himself, he traces his fingers along the rim of his root beer float glass. The last time he'd seen Beatrice, she had tossed him a quick "Don't wait for me before you start ordering!" and then an even quicker kiss. The sting of it still lingers on his skin and his mind. 

The bell above the door rings, and Lemony looks at it sharply. It's not her though, it's the old man, the _Daily Punctilio_ tucked under his arm, leaving the premises and going on his merry way. Perhaps he is going back to a family, a spouse and children. Perhaps he is going to wander about the city alone, or even journey all the way out to the countryside or the Hinterlands to do his wandering. Perhaps he is about to meet with someone he saw yesterday, or someone he hasn't seen in a long time. 

Lemony thinks he is wandering, but with a purpose. It reminds him of when he'd first come back from Stain'd-by-the-Sea, when he was still getting himself reacquainted with once familiar locales by walking about them. The one in particular that he is thinking of right now is the less than picturesque at the edge of Lake Lachrymose. Lemony's reacquaintance of this particular town is not noteworthy because of the town itself, but because of the people he had met up with during his short time there **_(_** Jacques had called it a vacation, Lemony said that one had to be enjoying oneself in a locale to consider an outing a vacation **_)_**. 

The day was overcast, the clouds that heavy gray color that promised rain soon to come. Lemony had been staring at them apprehensively as he wandered about Damocles Dock, not paying much attention to his surroundings or the people around him as much he was paying attention to the fact that he was, at the moment, without an umbrella, which could prove disastrous if his weather prediction turned out to be correct. 

Because he had not been paying attention to the people on the dock, he heard her before he saw her. 

There was a scream, and Lemony jumped, immediately bracing himself to run either towards danger or very far away from it. But it was not a scream of fear, or pain, he realized as he searched for the source of the sound. This was a sound of pure joy, like the sound a child makes when it sees a person or a pet it loves after a very long time apart. This would be an apt description, he realized, as he made contact with Beatrice, her eyes shining and her hands clapped over a wide smiling mouth. She was sopping wet, her dark hair slicked back, and accompanied by an equally drenched Widdershins and Josephine, both who looked as if they had been in the middle of discussing something before being stopped by Beatrice. 

It felt as if a great weight had been lifted from Lemony's chest. It was odd, how he could not have realized just how much he'd missed her until he saw her right in front of him, somehow more beautiful than he'd remembered, if a bit thinner. But he had missed her, missed her an impossible amount, and seeing her now gave him that exact same satisfied feeling one gets when the last puzzle piece fits snuggly into its slot with a victorious click. 

All of this passed through his mind in almost a split second, for Beatrice had almost immediately launched herself in Lemony's direction upon seeing him, crashing into him and flinging her arms tightly around his neck in the same moment. Lemony staggered, almost knocked off his feet by the force of her embrace, before he wrapped his arms around her as well, burying his face in the crook of her neck. He eventually said his greetings to Widdershins and Josephine, but it took a while to get to that point. 

"What're you thinking about?" Larry Your-Waiter interrupts Lemony's daydream, bringing him back to the present. His fingers are still on the rim of his glass. 

"Everything and nothing," Lemony tells him enigmatically. Larry chuckles to himself, wiping his hands on his apron again. Lemony wonders if it's born more of a nervous tick than a need to keep his hands clean. "You?" 

"That my shift is over," Larry responds, untying the apron and tossing it over the counter. It narrowly misses the café owner, who has continued to show disinterest in the conversation. Lemony glances from him to the clock behind him. Beatrice is now just shy of five minutes late. Again, Lemony tries and fails not to worry too much about that. "I hope she shows up." The words are innocent enough, but the undertone is a bit more sinister. After all, the both of them, Lemony Snicket and Larry Your-Waiter, have a fairly firm grasp on reality, and know that there are all kinds of reasons why someone like them might be tardy, reasons both noble and wicked. 

"Thank you." He isn't entirely sure if Larry hears him as he fixes his gaze back on the clock, the bell above the door ringing to signal the other man's departure. And then, not even ten seconds after, the bell rings again. Maybe Larry forgot something. But when Lemony turns around, there she is, sloe eyes searching the café until they find him, and a smile breaks out across her face. 

"I know, I know." She's apologetic, hands spread as Lemony stands, almost knocking over his stool in the process. "I'm very _un_ fashionably late, but O was being an absolute _pain_ like you would not believe, blithering here and yon about how we need to do this differently or that differently, as if being the playwright gives him directorial privileges when all he's _really_  doing is making everyone in the cast fantasize about his untimely-" Lemony is upon her before she finishes, his mouth on hers, one arm wound behind her back to pull her closer and the other cupping her cheek. He can feel her smile against his lips as she kisses him back, her hands framing his face and then reaching back to wind in his hair. They're both smiling when they break apart. 

"Hi." His voice is so soft he can barely hear himself speak. Beatrice's eyes sparkle, and not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, he wonders why.

"Hi." Her voice is a murmur too, and her slender fingers play with the hairs on the nape of his neck. "I should be late more often if this is the kind of greeting I get," she says teasingly. 

"No." Lemony tries to make his voice stern, but Beatrice's smile widens and he cracks and crumbles, ducking to kiss her cheek. To his credit, it is very hard to resist responding to that smile; he's seen many a volunteer and villain alike try and fail miserably. "I've been sitting at the counter," he adds, jerking his head to his recently vacated seat. "You want us to get a table?" 

"Please," is Beatrice's response, her eyes fixing on his empty root beer float glass and then the menu. "You do that, and I will get my drink." Lemony nods, stepping away. "And then you'll let me complain about rehearsal?" she asks hopefully.

"Only if you'll let me complain about the tedium of bird watching with J and J." Beatrice bites down on her grin, and nods her assent. 

"Deal." She makes as if to move away, only to change her mind at the last second. Her fingers are under Lemony's chin, guiding him back towards her mouth for another kiss, her free hand cradling his jaw. This time it's his turn to be surprised, and then to smile into his response, resisting the urge to wrap himself around her and forget that they're in a very public place, if only for a moment. This kiss is over almost as soon as it begins, and like all kisses Lemony thinks that it's been too short to really satisfy him, though if he's fair he could spend a lifetime with Beatrice **_(_** which he plans to **_)_** and still be desirous for more. 

He supposes that's love, after all.


End file.
